STORY  OF  A  WOMAN'S 
LIFE  AND  WORK 


ADELTHA; 


A  True  Story  of  a  Woman  s  Life 

and  Work. 


BY 

MRS.  ELIZABETH  M.  ROWLAND. 


BOSTON  AND  CHICAGO: 
(£angrcgattanal  <Suntiau=  School  anti  lEhtbltsIjtng  S'Ortetg. 


Copyright,  1888, 

Congregational  Sunday-School  and  Publishing  Society. 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Stanley  Usher, 
JJI  Devonshire  Street ,  Poston. 


ADELTHA. 


When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  went  with  my  mother 
into  the  country  during  the  summer  vacation  and 
boarded  for  a  few  weeks  in  a  village  on  the  western 
edge  of  Maine,  within  sight  and  drive  of  the 
White  Mountains  of  New  Hampshire.  While 
there  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  girl  of  thir¬ 
teen,  which  soon  ripened  into  an  intimacy  of  the 
desperate,  all-absorbing,  school-girl  sort,  yet  one 
which  lasted  twenty  years  ;  and  it  is  the  story 
of  this  girl’s  life  and  work  that  I  am  to  tell. 

I  tell  the  story  in  detail,  because  the  very  point 
of  it  is  that  her  work  was  herself,  and  the  only 
way  to  understand  her  influence  was  to  become 
acquainted  with  her  personally. 

At  that  time  Adeltha  was  a  very  tall,  large 
girl,  rather  raw-boned  and  awkward,  with  straight, 
abundant  flaxen  hair  and  not  a  single  pretty 
feature.  But  she  was  young,  in  perfect  health, 
something  of  a  flirt  among  the  boys  at  the  acad¬ 
emy,  an  average  scholar,  but  quick,  bright,  and 
interested  in  every  thing  that  was  going  on,  and 
distinguished  from  the  other  girls  by  a  certain 
light-heartedness,  a  bubbling  over  of  animal  life 


4 


ADELTHA. 


and  spirits  that  gave  every  body  who  met  her  an 
impression  of  sunshine  and  a  fresh  breeze. 

At  sixteen,  with  the  maturity  of  twenty,  this 
typical  Yankee  girl,  like  hundreds  of  others,  was 
teaching.  She  had  already  tried  her  hand  in  the 
district  schools  near  home,  but  now  she  was  at  the 
head  of  an  academy  “  down  east  ”  on  the  Penob¬ 
scot,  teaching  “  French  and  fancy-work  and  oriental 
painting/’  after  the  manner  of  the  smart  girls  of 
the  last  generation.  So  far  her  religious  life  had 
consisted  in  going  to  church  and  in  learning  her 
Sunday-school  lesson,  and  although  she  always 
“said  her  prayers”  when  she  went  to  bed,  I’ve 
heard  her  say  that  up  to  this  time  she  never  gave 
a  single  minute  to  thoughts  of  religion. 

My  first  letter  from  her  was  full  of  her  school 
and  her  new  acquaintances.  In  a  week  or  two  I 
had  another  in  which  she  said  something  like  this : 
“  I  ’m  thinking  of  something  else  now.  I ’m  try¬ 
ing  to  be  a  Christian.  Something  that  the  minister 
has  said  has  set  me  to  thinking.” 

That  was  all  she  had  to  say  about  it.  I  had 
grown  up  in  an  old-fashioned  church  where  the 
few  people  who  were  converted  went  through 
a  regular  order  of  feeling.  First  they  were 
“  serious,”  then  “  under  conviction,”  then  they 
“indulged  a  hope”  and  remained  “serious,”  at 
least  for  a  few  months.  Mother  shook  her  head 
when,  her  term  over,  Adeltha  visited  me  on  her 
way  home.  Adeltha  was  no  more  “  serious  ”  than 


ADELTHA . 


5 


ever.  She  was  just  as  lively  and  noisy  and  gay  as 
when  she  visited  me  before.  But  at  night  she 
talked  with  me  and  prayed  with  me  and  said  we 
must  try  together.  Years  afterwards  she  wrote 
me:  “There  never  was  a  smaller  mustard-seed  of 
faith  and  purpose  in  any  body’s  heart  than  in  mine 
when  I  began  to  be  a  Christian.” 

The  seed  was  not  only  small  but  it  was  of  slow 
growth.  For  a  year  or  two  she  was  just  an  ordi¬ 
nary  church  member,  a  good  girl  in  the  sense  that 
she  was  not  a  bad  one,  and  that  was  all.  She 
developed  physically  into  almost  a  beauty.  After 
a  slight  sickness  her  flaxen  hair  grew  golden  and 
curly,  and  her  one  beauty,  a  perfect  flush  that 
came  and  went  as  she  talked,  gave  her  face  the 
attraction  of  color  which  is  at  once  so  charming 
and  so  fleeting. 

Now  was  her  time  of  social  triumph.  She 
studied  in  one  or  two  different  places  and  taught 
in  others  and  every-where  she  went  she  made  friends 
with  her  bright,  attractive  manner  and  her  warm, 
sympathetic  heart.  Men  and  women  found  her  the 
best  of  company.  Unmarried  men  invariably 
offered  to  marry  her.  In  one  year  I  remember 
she  had  dangling  at  her  heels  and  unwilling  to 
take  “no”  for  an  answer,  a  gawky  back-country 
lad,  a  dashing  young  sea-captain,  a  Congregational 
minister,  and  a  New  York  artist  whose  name  I 
often  see  now  in  the  papers  ;  and  it  was  through 
the  perplexities  and  heartaches  and  disappoint- 


6* 


ADELTHA. 


merits  of  these  and  other  love  affairs  that  there 
came  a  discipline  which  began  to  change  the 
thoughtless  girl  into  the  remarkable  Christian 
woman. 

The  summer  of  i860  came.  She  was  anxious 
to  go  South  to  teach,  and  through  the  advice  of  a 
summer  boarder  she  advertised  in  The  National 
Era,  a  Washington  paper  with  a  large  Southern 
circulation.  The  modest  advertisement  read  as 
follows  :  — 

“  Wanted.  —  A  position,  South,  for  a  young 
lady,  as  governess.  Address  Rev.  - ,  - , 


She  gave  the  name  of  her  uncle,  the  minister 
in  the  village. 

I  was  visiting  there  when  the  advertisement 
was  sent  on.  It  was  a  secret  in  the  familv,  and  as 
great  an  event,  to  be  talked  over  under  our  breath, 
as  going  to  Japan  would  be  now.  Every  day 
Adeltha  would  go  away  by  herself  and  pray  that 
God  would  decide  her  future  for  her.  Before  I  left 
the  answers  began  to  come.  Every  mail  brought 
them  ;  if  I  remember  rightly  there  were  fifteen 
of  one  sort  and  another,  —  a  fabulous  number  the 
summer  boarder  said,  who  had  had  but  one  answer 
herself ;  and  choosing  from  among  these  chances, 
three  spunky  Yankee  girls  set  off  by  October  : 
a  friend  for  Kentucky,  her  sister  for  Maryland, 
and  Adeltha  for  Macon,  Georgia. 


ADELTHA. 


7 


In  December,  i860,  South  Carolina  seceded,  and 
Adeltha’s  letters  were  full  of  the  matter.  She 
was  an  arrant  secessionist.  “  I  believe  the  South 
ought  to  be  let  alone  and  secede  if  it  wants  to,  — 
only  I  ’ll  come  home,”  she  wrote.  Then  suddenly 
her  letters  stopped.  Sumter  fell.  Then  came 
the  call  to  arms.  Her  sister  reached  home  with 
difficulty  through  the  blood-stained  streets  of  Bal¬ 
timore,  and  her  brother  joined  the  Northern 
army.  Spring  and  summer  passed  without  a 
word  from  her,  when  one  September  day  I 
received  a  letter  from  her,  dated  New  York,  and 
the  next  day  she  was  with  us,  at  home  again, 
a  changed  woman  —  the  same  and  yet  not  the 
same. 

“I’ve  learned  to  pray,”  she  said,  “though  I 
thought  I  knew  how  before.  When  the  letters 
from  home  stopped  and  I  found  mine  did  not  get 
through,  it  began  to  dawn  upon  me  that  I  was  an 
exile  and  a  prisoner.  Then  I  began  to  cry  to  God 
for  help.  They  treated  me  like  a  dear  friend.  Be¬ 
fore  the  pinch  came  they  took  me  to  The 
Springs  with  them  and  I  joined  with  them  in  all 
their  festivities.  But  when  the  battle  of  Manas¬ 
sas  came  (first  Bull  Run)  and  the  papers  reported 
the  Maine  regiments  as  among  those  which  were 
all  cut  up,  my  heart  sunk  within  me.  I  knew  my 
brother  would  be  in  the  army  —  perhaps  he  was 
dead  ;  and  I  just  cried  out  to  God  to  let  me  go 
home. 


8 


ADELTHA. 


“  But  there  was  no  possible  way  to  get  home, 
they  told  me ;  all  communication  was  cut  off.  I 
lost  twenty  pounds  in  a  few  weeks,  till  my  southern 
friends  said  I  should  die  on  their  hands  if  they  did 
not  get  rid  of  me.  I  would  n’t  give  up.  I  kept 
praying.  One  day  we  met  at  a  dinner  party  a 
man  who  had  just  come  through  the  lines  by  way 
of  Fortress  Monroe.  Here  was  my  chance.  If 
he  could  come,  I  could  go.  We  found  a  Confed¬ 
erate  soldier  who  was  going  that  way  in  a  day  or 
two  to  join  his  regiment.  They  paid  me  up 
every  cent  in  gold  and  packed  me  off  under  the 
soldier’s  care.” 

And  I  might  add  that  they  weighed  her  down 
with  enough  letters  to  post  when  she  got  North, 
to  have  hung  her  for  a  traitor  for  aught  I  know. 

She  committed  her  way  to  God  and  set  out  on 
her  perilous  journey,  and  verily  her  way  was  pre¬ 
pared  for  her  in  the  midst  of  her  enemies.  At 
Fortress  Monroe  she  found  people  who  had  been 
waiting  for  weeks,  but  she  was  exchanged  with 
only  a  few  hours’  delay.  A  Union  soldier  going 
home  on  a  furlough  took  her  in  charge  ;  friends 
sprang  up  out  of  the  ground ;  every  body  be¬ 
friended  her ;  and  here  she  was  safe  at  home,  her 
brother  in  the  army,  but  unharmed,  and  her  simple 
explanation  was  :  “  I  cried  unto  the  Lord  and  he 
heard  me.” 

I  have  been  thus  particular  because  I  wish  to 
emphasize  the  fact  that  a  saintly  character  was 


ADELTHA. 


9 


made  out  of  what  we  should  have  called  unprom¬ 
ising  material. 

She  was  now  twenty-one  years  old,  but  there 
had  been  crowded  into  the  last  four  years  of  her 
life  more  experiences  and  adventures  than  fall  to 
the  lot  of  most  women  in  a  life-time,  and  the  change 
that  I  noticed  in  her  was  her  wonderful  intimacy 
with  God.  It  did  not  seem  to  be  prayer  so  much 
as  an  indwelling.  She  would  lay  down  her  book 
and  say  with  the  greatest  freedom  and  simplicity  : 
“  I  ’m  going  upstairs  a  little  while  now.  I  ’m 
sleepy  if  I  leave  my  prayers  till  night.”  She 
would  be  gone  an  hour,  and  I  would  know  by  the 
low  sound  through  the  closed  door  that  she  was 
praying.  Once  when  I  was  visiting  at  the  farm  in 
the  dead  of  winter,  I  would  see  her,  day  after  day, 
dress  as  if  to  go  out-of-doors,  take  a  sleigh-robe,  and 
go  away  by  herself  in  a  cold  room  for  a  literal  hour 
of  devotion.  She  carried  every  thing  to  God  in 
prayer  and  expected  and  received  answers.  She 
prayed  about  the  smallest  matters  and  talked  of 
her  trust  in  God  with  a  familiarity  which  was  not 
irreverent  and  disgusting  only  because  it  was  so 
simple  and  unconscious. 

Every  one  who  met  her  began  to  feel  this  pres¬ 
ence  of  God.  She  spoke  of  the  Saviour  as  freely 
as  of  her  brother  in  the  army,  and  whether  it  falls 
in  with  any  body’s  theory  or  not,  I  am  bound 
to  say  with  just  the  same  light-hearted,  fond,  per¬ 
sonal  affection.  She  would  ask  a  girl  to  her  room 


IO 


ADELTHA. 


to  try  to  help  her  find  God  with  no  more  ado  than 
if  she  had  taken  her  upstairs  to  show  her  a  new 
stitch  in  crocheting.  If  young  men  made  love  to 
her,  and  they  continued  to,  she  diverted  their 
minds  by  trying  to  convert  them.  They  came  to 
woo  and  remained  to  pray.  Some  of  the  most 
remarkable  cases  I  ever  knew  of  personal  work 
for  souls  were  among  these  would-be  lovers,  and 
are  not  for  me  to  make  public. 

It  was  the  next  year,  I  think,  that  she  went  to 
teach  a  private  school  in  a  little  village  in  the 
Connecticut  valley.  She  wrote  me  often,  and  the 
accounts  of  that  winter’s  work  made  a  great 
impression  on  me. 

“After  I  had  the  school  organized,”  she  wrote 
me,  “  I  asked  the  class  in  French  to  remain  awhile 
one  night,  as  they  were  the  oldest  scholars.  I 
told  them  I  wanted  to  help  them  to  be  Christians 
this  winter  as  well  as  to  teach  them  their  lessons, 
and  after  talking  with  them  I  prayed  with  them.” 

There  was  no  waiting  for  opportunity,  we  see ; 
she  made  her  opportunity.  Very  soon  some  of  her 
scholars  were  rejoicing  in  a  new-found  hope  ;  then 
some  of  the  parents  were  reached  ;  and  soon  a 
gracious  revival  was  felt  in  the  church,  springing, 
as  far  as  human  eye  could  see,  from  the  work  in 
that  little  school. 

One  incident  in  connection  with  it  lingers  in  my 
memory.  A  boy  or  lad,  on  the  debatable  ground 
between  boy  and  man,  came  to  her  to  ask  her  to 


ADELTHA. 


II 

give  him  music  lessons  on  the  cabinet  organ.  He 
worked  by  day  and  must  take  his  lesson  in  the 
evening  ;  must  call  for  his  teacher  and  take  her  to 
his  organ  and  walk  back  with  her.  “  I  could  n’t 
think  of  it  for  a  minute,”  she  said.  “  I  was  tired 
with  my  day’s  work,  and  to  give  up  two  evenings 
and  take  those  two  walks  in  all  weathers,  with  that 
boy  and  for  almost  no  pay  too,  for  he  was  poor, 
why  !  the  absurdity  of  it !  But  after  praying  about 
it,  I  felt  I  must  do  it ;  so  asking  God  to  accept 
the  work  as  done  for  him,  I  agreed  to  give  the 
lessons. 

“  So,  as  we  were  plodding  along  the  road  in  the 
dark,  I  asked  the  young  fellow  if  he  was  a  Chris¬ 
tian.  He  was  n’t  disposed  to  talk  much,  but  I 
talked  to  him  and  told  him  what  God  expected  of 
him  and  that  I  should  pray  for  him.  The  next 
time  he  came  for  me,  as  soon  as  we  were  out  of 
the  house,  he  told  me  that  he  had  given  his  heart 
to  God.”  He  told  her,  too,  that  after  he  left  her 
at  her  door  that  night  he  met  some  of  the  boys 
and  told  them  as  a  joke  that  his  music  teacher  was 
going  to  convert  him,  and  they  had  a  good  laugh 
together  over  it  and  made  fun  of  it  all.  But  after 
he  left  them  it  came  over  him  what  a  wicked  thing 
he  had  done,  and  he  was  so  distressed  that  he  went 
into  a  barn  by  the  roadside  and  fell  down  on  his 
knees  before  God,  asked  his  forgiveness  and  prom¬ 
ised  to  take  heed  to  the  friendly  warning.  She 
wrote  me  :  “This  young  man  had  a  good  mother 


12 


ADELTHA. 


who  was  praying  for  him,  and  if  I  had  n’t  spoken 
God  would  have  taken  some  other  way  to  answer 
her  prayers.  But  because  I  was  willing  to  speak 
to  him  and  pray  for  him,  God  let  me  have  the 
privilege  of  leading  him  to  his  Saviour.” 

Spending  the  winter  in  this  same  village  there 
was  a  young  married  woman  from  Brooklyn,  with 
a  family  of  little  children.  Her  husband  had  con¬ 
nections  in  the  place,  and  as  he  was  making  some 
change  in  his  business  he  had  put  his  family  there 
for  the  season  while  he  was  away.  It  so  happened 
that  Mrs.  B.,  engrossed  in  family  cares,  and  Adel- 
tha,  busy  in  her  school,  did  not  meet  for  months. 
In  so  small  a  village  this  may  seem  incredible,  but 
is  perhaps  explained  by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  B.,  who 
was  thoroughly  irreligious  and  took  no  part  in 
church  affairs,  had  conceived  a  dislike  for  the  very 
name  of  the  school-teacher,  who,  she  was  sure, 
was  so  extra  good  and  pious  that  she,  for  her  part, 
did  not  want  to  meet  her. 

Now  one  morning,  it  was  a  Saturday  or  some 
holiday,  Adeltha  felt  very  much  drawn  to  God  in 
prayer  for  a  particular  request,  which  was  that 
God  would  take  that  day’s  work  in  charge ;  that 
whatever  she  was  led  to  do  might  be  owned 
and  blessed  by  him  ;  and,  her  prayer  over,  she 
dressed  to  go  out  on  a  distant  errand.  It  was 
a  perfect  day,  the  sky  clear,  the  air  like  wine. 
After  a  few  minutes’  walk,  a  young  lady  friend 
overtook  her  in  a  sleigh  and  invited  her  to  get  in 
for  a  ride,  saying,  — 


ADELTHA. 


1 3 


going 


“This  is  my  cousin,  Mrs.  B.,  and  we’re 
to  Springfield  on  a  lark.” 

Without  a  minute’s  hesitation  Adeltha  jumped 
in,  and  off  the  three  young  women  went  ;  and 
from  my  knowledge  of  two  of  them  I  have  no 
doubt  they  were  as  noisy  and  undignified  and  jolly 
as  three  school-girls  would  have  been.  Adeltha 
was  like  a  rubber  ball  :  the  reaction  from  an  hour’s 
prayer  was  naturally  an  hour’s  laughing.  They 
dined  at  the  Massasoit,  and  bumped  home  on 
nearly  bare  ground  but  in  great  spirits. 

In  the  quiet  of  her  room,  however,  ’Deltha 
thought  of  her  morning  prayer. 


ti 


I 


thought 


it  all  over,”  she  told  me,  “and  I 


could  n’t  remember  that  I  ’d  talked  about  any  body 
or  said  any  thing  I  ought  not  to,  only  I ’d  been 
full  of  fun.  I  just  could  n’t  help  it,  it  was  so  nice 
being  out  driving  on  such  a  day  and  we  were  all 
so  happy.  So  I  asked  God  to  forgive  what  had 
been  wrong,  and  I  was  so  tired  I  went  straight  to 
bed.” 

But  God  had  owned  the  day  whose  laughter 
was  consecrated  to  him.  Mrs.  B.  followed  up  the 
new  acquaintance  and  in  a  very  short  time  came 
out  a  decided  Christian.  She  told  Adeltha  :  — 

“When  Cousin  Abby  and  I  saw  you  on  the 
road  that  morning,  and  she  said  :  ‘  Let ’s  ask  her 
to  go  with  us,’  I  demurred.  I  did  n’t  want  you, 
for  I  was  sure  a  woman  so  pious  as  you  were  said 
to  be  would  also  be  poky.  But  when  I  heard 


H 


ADELTHA. 


you  laugh  and  joke  and  enter  into  our  good  times 
all  day,  I  said  to  myself :  ‘  If  a  woman  can  be  so 
pleasant  and  so  nice,  and  a  Christian  too,  I  should 
like  to  be  one.’  ” 

Mrs.  B.  clung  to  her  new-found  friend,  made 
her  leave  her  boarding-place  and  come  to  live 
with  her,  saying,  — 

“  Don’t  pay  any  board.  I  ’ll  pay  you  for 
coming,  if  necessary.” 

Her  husband  came  home,  was  astonished  at  the 
change  in  his  wife,  and  with  the  help  of  this  new¬ 
found  friend,  began  a  Christian  life  too.  I  met 
them  at  Adeltha’s  wedding  a  year  or  two  after¬ 
ward.  They  were  then  both  members  of  Dr.  C.’s 
church,  and  he  had  a  large  class  of  boys  in  the 
Sunday-school  and  was  quite  a  prominent  member 
of  the  church. 

It  was  during  this  year  which  she  spent  in 
Brooklyn  and  with  another  friend  near  New  York 
City  that  her  lungs  began  to  trouble  her.  She 
lost  her  freshness  and  roundness  ;  had  to  be  careful 
in  bad  weather,  and  without  being  at  all  sick, 
made  the  discovery  that  her  time  of  bounding 
physical  vigor  was  past. 

She  had  always  been  very  much  interested 
in  foreign  missions,  and  had  she  lived  twenty 
years  later  there  is  no  doubt  she  would  have  gone 
abroad,  but  single  women  did  not  go  much  till 
after  the  war  was  over.  She  hailed  the  opportu¬ 
nity  offered  by  the  American  Missionary  Associa- 


ADELTHA. 


15 


tion  and  went  South  among  its  earlier  teachers  in 
the  spirit  of  a  foreign  missionary. 

She  was  now  twenty-four  years  old.  The  year 
was  one  of  great  hardship,  privation,  and  unceas¬ 
ing  toil  for  herself  and  sister,  who  went  with  her. 
They  sailed  in  a  vessel  which  proved  unseaworthy 
and  narrowly  escaped  shipwreck.  They  were  sent 
to  Hilton  Head  Island,  opposite  Port  Royal,  at 
the  southern  extremity  of  South  Carolina,  and 
labored  among  the  cotton-hands  of  the  plantations 
there  and  among  the  refugees  driven  in  there  by 
Sherman’s  March  to  the  Sea.  The  able-bodied 
blacks  were  taken  as  soldiers  ;  the  old  and  infirm, 
the  women  and  children  were  sent  to  such  stations 
and  huddled  together  like  sheep.  The  teachers’ 
quarters  were  in  a  deserted  house  built  in  a  south¬ 
ern  fashion  —  set  up  on  posts  above  the  ground. 
At  one  time  sixty  negroes  lived,  ate,  and  slept  in 
this  open  space  under  the  house,  and  the  small¬ 
pox  broke  out  among  them  !  Every  night  the 
teachers  lay  down  feeling  that  only  God’s  mercy 
kept  them  from  dying  of  pestilence  or  being 
burned  alive  before  morning. 

The  average  attendance  of  their  school,  which 
was  held  in  this  house  with  their  own  chamber 
for  one  of  the  recitation  rooms,  was  one  hundred 
and  seventy,  in  ages  varying  from  four  to  twenty- 
five,  and  to  accommodate  them  at  all  one  half 
came  from  eight  to  twelve  in  the  forenoon  and  the 
other  half  from  one  to  five  in  the  afternoon.  It 


i6 


ADELTHA. 


was  not  a  time  for  reaping  a  harvest,  or  sowing 
seed  even,  but  only  of  preparing  the  ground,  and 
after  eight  hours’  work  in  the  school,  these  girls 
spent  their  evenings  in  visiting  the  sick,  clothing 
the  naked,  holding  sewing  schools  for  the  mothers, 
holding  or  attending  three  prayer-meetings  a  week, 
and  at  night  lay  down,  wearily,  in  rooms  where  the 
dirty,  ragged  scholars  had  been  all  day :  waked  to 
see  great  rats  looking,  at  them  through  holes  in  the 
plastering,  and  got  up  night  after  night  to  drench 
their  beds  with  kerosene  oil  that  they  might  not 
be  devoured  by  the  bedbugs  and  vermin  that 
swarmed  from  every  crack.  This  was  the  romance 
of  missionary  life  in  those  days. 

Stationed  on  the  island  there  was  a  colored 
regiment,  officered  by  white  men,  and  as  the 
teachers  in  this  house  were  the  only  other  white 
people  in  the  place,  the  gentlemen  naturally  called 
over  pretty  often.  Her  sister  writes  me  :  — 

“  Of  course  if  they  came  in  school  hours  we 
took  them  into  the  school-room.  We  often  asked 
our  callers  to  hear  classes,  we  had  so  many  chil¬ 
dren  and  our  time  was  so  full. 

“  I  remember  one  officer  who  had  been  sick, 
and  who  often  came  over  during  his  convales 
cence.  ’Dellie  would  always  turn  the  conversa¬ 
tion  to  religious  subjects  and  often  to  his  own 
personal  interest  in  the  matter.  If  he  came 
during  school  hours  she  always  had  something 
which  she  had  saved  for  him  to  read  —  a  religious 


ADELTHA. 


17 


poem  or  a  passage  from  the  Bible  marked  for  him 
to  think  about  while  we  were  busy.  When  the 
lesson  was  over  she  would  naturally  talk  with  him 
about  the  passage.  This  was  the  way  she  did 
with  every  one  who  came  to  see  us,  and  although 
so  few  of  them  were  religious  men,  they  all  seemed 
to  enjoy  it ;  at  any  rate  they  did  n’t  stay  away 
because  of  it.  We  could  not  let  these  calls  inter¬ 
fere  with  our  regular  work,  for  there  was  too  much 
to  do  ;  but  I  always  felt  that,  with  ’Dellie  at  least, 
they  were  so  many  additional  opportunities  to  work 
for  the  Master.  I  think  they  all  loved  and  re¬ 
spected  her  for  it  and  felt  that  religion  with  her 
was  a  daily  walking  with  Christ.” 

She  completed  the  school  year,  the  war  ended 
that  spring,  and  the  next  September  she  was  mar¬ 
ried  from  her  father’s  house  to  the  colonel  of  this 
regiment.  He  was  a  New  York  man,  in  thorough 
Christian  sympathy  with  herself,  and  they  went  to 
W - ,  Pennsylvania,  to  live. 

Eight  or  nine  years  of  bustling  activity,  of 
school  teaching  and  travel,  of  missionary  work, 
care,  responsibility,  association,  and  influence  with 
large  numbers,  and  now  Adeltha  found  herself  a 
bride  almost  in  solitude. 

W - was  then  a  thriving  town  on  a  branch  of 

the  Susquehanna,  the  center  of  the  lumber-trade 

of  the  region  ;  but  W -  proper  was  more  than 

two  miles  away  from  the  lonely  bride.  She  was 


i8 


ADELTHA. 


keeping  house  on  a  by-road  in  a  sparsely  settled 
suburb  up  the  river.  The  farms  of  the  stolid 
Dutch  farmers  stretched  off  into  the  country. 
Nearer  the  river  were  hastily  built  boarding-houses 
for  the  workmen  who  were  putting  up  an  enor¬ 
mous  saw-mill  for  a  New  York  man. 

Very  happily  married  to  a  man  thoroughly  con¬ 
genial  and  in  full  sympathy  with  her  religiously, 
those  first  winter  months  were  yet  some  of  the 
most  trying  ones  of  her  life.  There  she  was  with 
hardly  an  acquaintance,  her  husband  away  at  the 
mill  all  day,  no  society,  no  Sunday-school,  no  lit¬ 
erary  club,  no  sewing  society  even,  no  church  — 
nothing  to  do.  If  it  had  not  been  that  the  river 
gave  them  two  freshets  that  season  and  flooded 
them  out  of  the  house  twice,  compelling  them  to 
dry  off  and  then  go  back  and  begin  housekeeping 
again,  I  don’t  know  what  would  have  become  of 
her !  There  was  no  village  here,  remember,  no 
post-office.  There  was  a  stone  church  nearly  a 
mile  away,  out  of  repair  and  unused  except  on  a 
Sabbath  morning,  when  an  old  school  Presbyterian 
minister  would  appear  from  some  unknown  quarter 
and  preach  to  the  few  people  who  remembered  the 
appointment  ;  then  he  would  go  off  and  in  two 
weeks  come  again  in  the  afternoon,  preach,  and 
ride  away.  Further  on  there  was  a  Methodist 
church  with  a  still  more  sporadic  ministration. 
It  was  a  community  hard  for  a  New  Englander  to 
understand  ;  a  place  of  dinner-parties  given  in 


ADELTHA. 


T9 


great  kitchens,  where  the  table  fairly  groaned 
with  delicacies  and  wonders  of  cookery ;  where 
the  lady  of  the  house  often  did  not  appear  till 
dinner-time,  and  then  only  in  a  calico  dress  with 
collar  omitted,  to  run  and  fetch  from  the  oven  and 
pantry,  while  a  friendly  neighbor  did  the  honors  of 
the  table ;  a  place  where  many  of  the  thriving 
elderly  heads  of  families  could  not  read  or  write. 
It  was  not  a  neighborhood  of  infidelity  or  gross 
wickedness,  but  of  blank  stupidity  and  full-fed 
ignorance. 

Neither  the  colonel  nor  his  bride  were  people  to 
endure  such  a  state  of  things  long  without  an 
effort  to  better  it.  The  colonel  started  out  one  of 
his  very  first  Sundays  with  pictures,  cards,  and 
papers,  and  walking  up  and  down  the  roads  he 
asked  every  body  he  met  to  come  next  Sunday  to  an 
unfinished  part  of  the  mill  and  sing.  In  the  utter 
dearth  of  any  thing  else  to  do  quite  a  number 
gathered,  and  before  the  sleepy  old  elders  woke 
up,  the  “new  man”  and  his  wife  had  a  Sunday- 
school  well  in  hand. 

The  place  grew  rapidly.  The  saw-mill  that 
year  was  the  largest  in  the  world.  Cottages  were 
built  for  the  operatives  and  the  new  village  strag¬ 
gled  all  the  way  from  the  river  to  the  church. 
This  church  was  repaired  and  a  parsonage  built 
for  the  resident  minister.  Such  settlements 
always  take  on  the  impress  of  the  first  comer, 
and  the  colonel  and  his  wife  put  their  mark  here. 


20 


ADEL  THA, 


The  second  winter  they  began  to  see  the  fruit  of 
their  labors.  A  great  revival  spread  through  the 
community  and  it  seemed  to  follow  in  their  foot¬ 
steps. 

There  were  Christian  people  on  these  scattered 
farms  when  my  friends  went  there,  but  they  knew 
nothing  about  church  work.  When  I  visited  them 
a  year  or  two  later,  there  was  a  church  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty  members.  It  was  Adelthi 
who  held  the  prayer-meeting  at  her  house,  who 
talked  with  inquirers  —  not  with  girls  and  women 
only,  but  with  boys  and  men,  young  and  old.  It 
was  she  who  followed  up  a  woman  of  doubtful 
character  and  gave  her  no  rest  till  she  cut  loose 
from  her  old  ways  and  started  life  again  as  a 
Christian  woman.  Taking  a  walk  one  day,  she 
saw  a  working-man  following  her.  She  had  seen 
him  at  the  meetings,  but  did  not  know  his  name 
even.  He  overtook  her  and  began  to  talk.  He 
was  in  great  distress  of  mind  and  wanted  to  be  a 
Christian,  and  Adeltha  stood  aghast  as  the  man 
poured  into  her  ears  a  confession  of  a  crime,  a 
state-prison  offence,  that  under  the  pressure  of 
God’s  Spirit  he  could  keep  no  longer  to  himself. 
In  all  that  village,  this  pretty  young  woman,  an 
utter  stranger,  was  the  only  one  who  impelled  the 
confession. 

Nor  were  her  personal  efforts  confined  to  out¬ 
siders.  She  had  living  with  her  at  this  time  a 
young  German  girl,  taken  in  pity  from  her 


ADELTHA. 


21 

drunken  parents,  and  a  colored  boy,  an  army 
waif  that  her  husband  had  brought  from  the 
south,  both  as  ignorant  as  Hottentots.  Under 
her  care  and  teaching  both  were  hopefully  con¬ 
verted.  Lizzie  joined  the  church  and  turned  out 
well.  The  color-prejudice  was  very  strong  and 
poor  Billy  was  not  allowed  to  join  the  church  or 
attend  the  village  school.  My  friends  gave  him  a 
home  and  he  walked  to  town  every  day  to  study 
at  a  colored  school,  while  he  attended  meetings 
and  worshiped  humbly  with  people  who  looked 
more  closely  at  the  color  of  his  skin  than  at  the 
change  in  his  character.  Billy  now  is  the  Rev. 

William  - ,  of  Virginia.  Our  kitchen  girls 

and  hired  men !  some  of  us  would  have  more 
courage  to  start  for  China  to-morrow  than  attempt 
to  do  any  good  among  them. 

I  remember  another  incident  that  may  be  men¬ 
tioned  here.  Her  father  was  not  a  church  mem¬ 
ber  though  a  very  excellent  man,  who  supported 
the  church  liberally,  read  his  Bible,  and  brought 
up  his  children  religiously.  Adeltha  never  doubted 
his  acceptance  with  God,  but  thought  he  lived 
below  his  privileges.  I  myself  remember  seeing 
her  twice  get  out  of  bed,  put  on  a  loose  dress  and 
slippers,  and  go  downstairs  to  her  father’s  bedside 
and  pray  with  him,  while  I  upstairs  could  hear 
her  tearful,  trembling  voice  as  she  pleaded  with 
God  for  her  father.  Can  any  young  woman  think 
of  a  harder  thing  to  do  than  that  ?  She  did  not 


22 


ADELTHA . 


live  to  see  it ;  but  the  time  came  when  her  father, 
nearly  eighty  years  old,  publicly  and  joyfully  took 
upon  himself  the  Christian  vows  and  confessed 
that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  “enjoyed  his 
religion.” 

Let  no  one  imagine  her  as  a  solemn  or  “  goody  ” 
woman.  She  was  the  life  of  every  company.  She 
would  play  the  piano  or  sing,  start  games  among 
the  young  folks,  talk  of  recipes  and  patterns  to 
the  mothers,  and  lend  books  to  the  young  men, 
and  give  the  impression  to  every  one  of  them  that 
her  heart  was  overflowing  with  love  to  God. 

“  I  always  put  on  my  prettiest  clothes  when  I 
try  to  do  any  body  any  good,”  she  would  say,  “and 
tie  up  my  curls  with  a  fresh  ribbon.  Those  dread¬ 
ful  black  caps  that  good  old  Aunt  Newton  wears 
are  enough  to  keep  any  young  person  at  least  from 
wanting  to  be  a  Christian.” 

But  the  beautiful  life  was  nearly  over.  It  only 
remains  to  tell  how  this  unselfish  spirit,  full  of 
work  for  others,  was  prepared  by  it  to  meet  death 
herself.  There  came  after  these  years  of  failing 
strength  a  sudden  hemorrhage,  a  persistent 
cough,  and,  in  anxiety,  she  took  her  children  and 
came  to  her  father’s  home  in  Maine  for  the  sum¬ 
mer.  She  was  wonderfully  better,  and  went  with 
her  sister  and  myself  to  Salem  to  attend  the 
American  Board  meetings  in  October.  We  went 
into  Boston  for  her  to  consult  Dr.  Cullis,  with 


ADELTHA. 


23 


whom  she  was  acquainted.  I  myself  overheard 
this  conversation  as,  after  a  private  interview, 
he  came  to  the  door  with  her. 

“  If  people  ask  me  if  I  have  the  consumption, 
doctor,  what  shall  I  tell  them  ?” 

“  What  do  you  want  to  tell  them  ?  ”  he  answered 
gravely. 

“I  want  to  tell  them  the  truth,”  she  said,  in  the 
old  piquant,  half-saucy  way. 

“Then  you  must  tell  them  that  you  have,”  he 
returned. 

“But  mother  has  coughed  thirty  years;  why 
can’t  I  ?  ” 

“You  won’t  cough  three,”  he  said  very  slowly. 

She  bade  him  good-by  calmly,  and  we  went 
home  without  a  reference  to  the  doctor’s  verdict. 

At  first  she  was  as  unwilling  to  die  as  you  or  I 
would  have  been.  What !  die  ?  she,  a  young 
woman  of  thirty-one,  with  a  pleasant  home, 
a  doting  husband,  two  little  children.  So  much 
to  do,  so  much  to  enjoy  !  It  could  not  be  !  It 
should  not  be  ! 

Contrary  to  her  usual  custom  she  did  not  talk 
much  about  it  to  any  of  us.  But  by  the  time  the 
winter  was  over  she  had  settled  the  whole  matter 
between  herself  and  God. 

“The  hardest  thing,”  she  told  me,  “was  to  be 
willing  to  leave  my  little  boys.  First  I  got  willing 
to  leave  them  with  God  and  to  trust  that  they 
would  be  as  safe  without  me  as  with  me.  But  to 


24 


ADELTHA. 


think  that  my  little  fellows  that  I  loved  so  much 
would  miss  me  only  a  few  weeks  —  would  never 
in  all  their  lives  think  or  care  for  me  as  any 
thing  more  than  a  tender  tradition  —  that  was 
the  hardest  wrench  of  all.” 

She  came  again  the  next  summer,  as  bright  and 
cheerful  as  ever,  as  full  of  life,  walking  some,  rid¬ 
ing  a  good  deal  ;  if  it  had  n’t  been  for  the  dreadful 
cough  we  might  have  been  deceived.  She  was 
not.  “  I  think  I  may  hold  out  another  year,  I  am 
so  tough,  but  I  want  to  be  sure  to  have  all  my 
sewing  done  for  the  children,  because  I  may  not 
live  through  the  winter,  you  know.” 

But  she  came  again  the  next  summer,  evidently 
failing,  but  still  so  happy,  so  natural  and  uncon¬ 
cerned  that  we  were  fairly  staggered.  I  find 
among  my  papers  a  letter  written  just  before  she 
came.  She  was  writing  of  some  very  unfavorable 
symptoms  that  had  developed,  showing,  as  her  doc¬ 
tor  told  her,  that  her  disease  had  taken  hold  of 
other  parts  of  her  body  as  well  as  her  lungs,  and 
she  goes  on  to  write  :  — 

“  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  little  any  of  these 
changes  of  body  affect  my  mind.  It  seems  to  me, 
as  regards  my  own  present  or  future,  my  heart 
rests  in  eternal  peace.  I  am  not  indifferent  to  life  ; 
life  never  looked  to  me  so  precious,  but  if  the 
Lord  Jesus  wants  me  to  die  in  the  coming  months 
I  feel  in  every  fiber  of  my  being  that  that  will  be 
the  highest  good  for  me,  and  that  he  will  make  it 


ADEL  THA. 


25 


work  for  good  to  all  the  dear  ones  I  shall  leave  be¬ 
hind.”  And  then  follows  an  inquiry  about  the 
price  of  a  black  silk  dress,  for,  as  she  said,  “  I  have 
lived  so  much  longer  than  I  thought  I  should,  I  ’ve 
worn  out  all  my  clothes.”  Black  silk  dresses  are 
seldom  discussed  in  such  a  spirit !  And  when  she 
showed  me  the  new  dress  that  summer,  she  said 
simply,  “  I  sha’n’t  want  it  after  this  year,  and  I 've 
had  the  skirt  made  long  and  I ’ve  put  by  enough 
for  a  new  waist  so  that  sister  Carrie  can  have  a 
nice  dress  out  of  it.” 

From  another  letter  I  copy  this  :  — 

“  I  have  read  and  prayed  much  about  the  higher 
Christian  life  this  winter,  and  I  have  surely  entered 
into  that  life  in  spots  (I  don’t  know  how  else  to 
express  it ).  As  I  wrote  before,  as  far  as  death  is 
concerned,  I  have  entered  into  rest.  I  never  think 
of  it  without  a  thrill  of  triumph,  and  hundreds  of 
times  this  winter  I  have  felt  these  victorious  words, 

‘  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting  !  O  grave,  where  is 
thy  victory  ?  ’  ‘  Thanks  be  to  God  which  giveth  us 
the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.’  I  have 
trusted  the  whole  thing  to  Christ,  and  I  can’t  feel 
that  death  will  be  any  thing  to  me  but  meeting  him 
face  to  face  whom  not  having  seen  I  love.  When 
I  hear  ministers  in  their  sermons  speak  of  the 
‘cold  waters  of  the  Jordan  of  death,’  or  the 
‘darkness  of  the  grave,’  I  smile,  for  I  feel  in  my 
heart  that  there  is  no  coldness  or  darkness,  no 
shadow  even  before  me ;  it  is  all  sunshine.  Now 


26 


ADELTHA. 


I  have  no  doubt  there  is  some  ‘  temperament  ’  in 
this,  but  there  is  more  grace.  For  two  years  ago 
it  seemed  very  sad  to  me  to  think  of  dying  before 
I  got  to  be  an  old  woman,  and  to  die  young  seemed 
like  a  cutting  off,  a  blasting,  and  now  I  think  it 
must  be  a  new  birth  into  a  fuller  life.  When  I 
realize  that  through  this  victory  that  God  has  given 
me,  I  am  so  much  happier  in  view  of  an  early 
death  than  the  majority  of  Christians,  I  feel  that 
I  want  the  same  overcoming  faith  in  regard  to 
every  thing  in  life.  I  can’t  say  yet  that  I  have  no 
burden  about  my  boys,  but  I  expect  to  say  it. 
There  is  so  much  trash  written  about  the  higher 
life  and  perfection  that  it  is  very  confusing ;  but  I 
mean  the  life  that  Jesus  meant  when  he  said,  ‘  If 
ye  abide  in  me,’  and  what  Paul  meant  when  he 
said,  ‘  Christ  liveth  in  me.’  ” 

She  literally  set  her  house  in  order,  told  us  all 
what  we  were  to  have  as  keepsakes  —  mind  you 
this  was  not  when  she  was  on  her  dying-bed,  but 
well  enough  to  visit,  to  go  to  church  occasionally, 
and  to  ride  about.  “  This  is  my  last  visit  home 
and  I  want  to  make  the  most  of  it.  I  am  sure  I 
shall  be  in  a  better  home  by  another  summer,”  she 
would  say,  as  simply  and  with  no  more  emotion 
than  if  she  was  getting  ready  to  move  into  another 
street  ;  so  simply  that  she  fairly  compelled  us  to 
receive  such  statements  without  a  word  of  dissent 
or  a  tear.  She  wrote  to  all  her  friends  and  made 
sure  that  the  unconverted  ones  had  at  least  a  mes^ 


ADELTIIA. 


27 


sage.  She  talked  with  us  of  the  journey  to  a  bet¬ 
ter  land  she  was  soon  to  take,  and  she  certainly 
gave  me  the  impression  that  she  dreaded  death 
less  than  getting  to  New  York  alone  with  her 
children. 

She  left  Maine  early  in  the  fall  and  failed 
rapidly  after  her  return  to  Pennsylvania.  Her  last 
letter  to  me  was  written  in  November,  and  while 
the  most  of  it  is  like  a  glimpse  of  heaven,  in  one 
or  two  expressions  the  old  human  way  of  looking 
at  things  shows  itself,  as  in  this  :  — 

“  All  my  friends,  children  of  God,  are  praying 
for  me,  that  I  may  get  well.  Sometimes  I  feel 
afraid  God  may  be  over-persuaded.  This  sounds 
strange,  but  when  I  pray  about  it  I  can  ’t  help  say¬ 
ing,  ‘  Dear  Lord,  don’t  mind  their  desires  if  thou 
wouldst  rather  I  should  come  to  heaven  now.’  ” 

In  another  place  she  says  :  “  I  wish  it  was  as 
easy  to  live  near  to  God  in  health  as  in  sickness.” 

In  the  two  months  of  exceeding  suffering  that 
followed,  her  husband  wrote  me  :  “  She  lives  con¬ 
stantly  in  the  presence  of  Jesus  and  -she  says  no 
one  can  tell  how  real  every  thing  about  heaven  has 
become.  And  her  cheerfulness  and  thoughtful 
care  of  every  body  but  herself  dries  all  tears  from 
the  eyes  of  her  friends.” 

She  chose  a  spot  in  the  cemetery  for  her  body 
to  be  laid  —  a  breezy,  sunny  slope,  where  Ploward 
and  Harry,  her  little  boys,  might  come  and  play 
and  not  feel  gloomy. 


28 


ADELTHA. 


Her  father  and  mother  were  with  her  at  the 
last.  She  kept  her  bed  but  six  or  eight  days  and 
was  released  from  pain  and  entered  into  her 
Saviour’s  presence  in  January. 

I  remember  the  day  the  telegram  came  which 
announced  that  ’Dellie  had  gone  home.  Her  sister 
and  I  sat  and  talked  together  of  her.  We  could 
not  weep  ;  there  was  nothing  to  weep  for.  “  I  feel 
as  if  she  was  nearer  now  than  when  she  was 
alive,”  her  sister  said.  And  when  her  parents 
returned  the  next  week  and  told  us  of  her  last 
hours,  if  we  shed  tears,  they  were  those  of 
rejoicing.  She  had  made  heaven  so  real  that 
we  could  not  mourn.  There  was  nothing  to 
mourn  for. 

There  are  two  or  three  very  obvious  lessons 
from  such  a  life  as  this. 

I.  Fruitfulness  of  a  short  life.  We  expect  to 
see  aged  saints,  but  hardly  look  for  them  among 
young  married  women.  Her  work  was  mainly 
done  between  eighteen  and  thirty.  She  died  at 
thirty-three,  and  yet  scores  will  arise  to  call  her 
blessed. 

II.  A  woman  who  is  really  in  earnest  about 
serving  God  will  find  opportunities  wherever  she 
is  placed,  and  in  the  midst  of  her  commonest 
activities. 

III.  The  secret  of  her  power  over  others  was 
God’s  power  over  her.  The  Bible  and  prayer  were 


ADELTHA . 


2$ 


her  never-failing  fountain  of  grace.  A  tremen¬ 
dously  energetic  woman,  a  real  “  Yankee  driver  ;  ” 
never  idle  for  a  minute,  yet  in  the  busiest  days  she 
neither  omitted  nor  cut  short  her  time  of  com¬ 
munion  with  God.  It  was  not  only  her  source  of 
strength,  but  her  remedy  for  perplexity.  One 
winter  she  had  a  family  of  ten  —  an  invalid 
mother-in-law ;  a  raw  girl  in  the  kitchen  ;  Billy, 
the  black  boy  ;  a  disagreeable  and  uncongenial  rel¬ 
ative,  and  the  school-teacher,  to  board,  “  It  takes 
a  great  deal  of  grace  to  live  this  winter,”  she 
said.  “  When  Sarah  aggravates  me  to  death,  I  just 
shut  my  mouth  and  go  upstairs  and  pray.” 

IV.  Religion  does  not  change  the  temperament 
but  uses  it  to  make  different  types  of  Christians. 
If  she  had  tried  to  be  any  thing  but  herself,  what 
a  miserable  failure  she  would  have  been.  The  gay, 
light-hearted,  volatile  girl,  fond  of  pretty  clothes, 
of  the  boys,  of  a  good  time,  when  God  had  taken 
hold  of  her  in  every  part  of  her  nature,  became 
the  buoyant,  courageous,  sympathetic,  charming 
Christian  that  won  hearts  with  a  word  and  held 
them  with  a  smile. 

V.  Small  beginnings  of  Christian  purpose  are 
to  be  encouraged,  not  despised.  If  it  is  truly  a 
heavenly  seed  with  life  within  itself,  God  will  take 
care  that  it  grows.  He  will  send  just  such  cir¬ 
cumstances  and  such  discipline  as  will  water  its 
roots  and  nourish  its  branches.  He  will  decide, 
too,  what  kind  of  fruit  it  shall  bear. 


c 


li 
• . 


L 

9,  : 

L 


ti 


